


Someone Brave and Gentle and Strong

by BeanPie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 22:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanPie/pseuds/BeanPie
Summary: Sansa arrives in King’s Landing to stand trial for treason. Will the surprise she has for Tyrion save them or condemn them? Spoilers for 8x05.





	Someone Brave and Gentle and Strong

Queen Daenerys Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, hair wild and eyes wilder, with Drogon looming behind her. Rows of Unsullied lined the perimeter of the crumbling Throne Room, and Sansa had been dragged through a crowd of jeering Dothraki on the way in. But the Lady of Winterfell was not alone. Tyrion stood somewhere off to her left, Jon to her right, and a small group of Northmen, Brienne, Podrick and Samwell were arranged in an arc behind her. Their silent support gave her strength.

When Daenerys spoke, her voice was hollow and inhuman. ”Sansa Stark, you stand before me accused of treason. How do you plead?”

Sansa’s first instinct was to rail against the Dragon Queen’s hypocrisy. Daenerys had usurped Jon’s rightful claim to the Seven Kingdoms, which meant that just sitting on that pile of swords in his place was treason. But Jon had caught Sansa on her way in to King’s Landing before she had been arrested. He had described the true extent of the atrocities that the Targaryen had committed, and the instability of her mind, and had begged Sansa to avoid provoking her. “Your grace,” she said, bowing her head a fraction, “I am truly sorry for any harm that my indiscretion might have caused you. But I had just found out that my brother was not my brother. Things I thought I knew my whole life - about my father, about my family - were all lies. I was overwhelmed. So… I confided in my husband.”

“Your… _husband_?” the Queen spat. Sansa could feel Tyrion’s eyes on her, but didn’t let her gaze leave Daenerys’ face.

“Yes, your grace. Tyrion and I were married in the sept which used to stand a stone’s throw from here.”

Daenerys’ eyes flicked angrily to Tyrion and back. “I was advised that your marriage was unconsummated. That your second marriage invalidated your first.”

“Our marriage _was_ unconsummated, your grace. But never annulled. My forced marriage to Bolton was false. Samwell Tarly was good enough to confirm it for me.”

The Queen sat back in her throne, drumming her fingers on the arm. The longer she remained silent, the more dangerous she seemed. Eventually, she leaned forward, hands on her knees. “Well, if Jon confided in you because you’re his family, and you confided in Tyrion because he’s your husband, then perhaps it should be Tyrion on trial for treason. He wasn’t sharing secrets with family; he was spreading dangerous lies about his queen.”

“No!” Sansa cursed herself: she had been so pleased when she had come up with an innocent explanation for breaking her promise and sharing Jon’s secret. She hadn’t even considered that it might implicate Tyrion. She threw herself onto her knees on the floor of the Throne Room, fighting tears and feeling like she had been transported back to the age of thirteen. “Please, your grace, I beg you for mercy.”

“Why should I show mercy to those who would destroy me?”

Sansa took a deep breath. She hadn’t planned to use this. She definitely hadn’t intended to tell _him_ this way. And it might not save her anyway: in the twisted mind of the Mad Queen it could seal their death sentence. But she had to try. “Because I’m pregnant, your grace.”

Tyrion stepped forward until he was far enough into her eye line that she could no longer avoid looking at him. His face held a mixture of horror and amazement, but there was a question in his eyes which made Sansa’s heart break. She gave him a small nod: yes, of course he was the father.

“Lies!” Daenerys said, and Drogon grumbled behind her.

“If- if I may, your grace,” Samwell said, stepping forward with so much determination that Sansa immediately understood Jon’s affection for him, “I’ve examined Lady Sansa myself, and she is definitely with child. A- and I’m sure she would be happy for another maester to provide a second opinion.”

The Queen stood and began to pace in front of the throne. She addressed the Unsullied guards flanking Sansa. “Return Lady Stark to her cell whilst I consider my verdict.” She had almost left the Throne Room when she paused and added, “And take her _husband_ with her.”

 

* * *

 

Tyrion was used to it taking longer than he might like to walk somewhere. When they were children, Cersei used to laugh as she ran laps around him while he waddled to try to keep up with Jamie. Never had a short journey felt so long before though. He had so many questions he wanted to ask Sansa, so many things he wanted to tell her. But he didn’t dare open his mouth until they were alone.

He was at least half certain that the baby was a lie to buy Sansa some time and dissuade Daenerys from executing her. They had only spent one night together, just before he had left Winterfell. There had been so much to say and so little time that they had somehow agreed to say nothing at all, instead simply finding comfort in the closeness of each other.

If she _was_ pregnant, the odds seemed low that he was the father, whatever she might have been trying to claim. The question was _when_ she had fallen pregnant. He thought he could probably have coped with it if she had found comfort in the arms of another man after Tyrion had left for King’s Landing. But if she had been pregnant before their night together, and had only bedded him because, as her husband, he could give legitimacy to a child she already carried, it would have broken his heart.

Finally, covered in ash, they arrived at their cell. ‘Cell’ was a rather grand term for it: there weren’t any actual jail cells still standing in the city. What it was, was a stable with some extra wood added to the door.

They were both herded into the same box - the others looked like they hadn’t yet been made secure - before one of the Unsullied soldiers forced them to their knees and chained their hands to a metal hoop that had been freshly screwed into the wall. He retreated through the reinforced door, and barred it from the outside. For a few seconds, the pair just stared at each other. Then Tyrion said, “Sansa… why in seven hells did you come here?”

“My queen commanded it,” she said, voice bitter. “And after what she did to King’s Landing, I wasn’t about to give her a reason to do the same to the North.” She twisted her wrists in her shackles, and then added quietly, “And I wanted to see you.”

A small spark of hope grew in Tyrion’s chest, and his attention turned to the subject that he was both desperate and terrified to hear about. He lowered his voice. “Are you really pregnant?”

Sansa nodded and gave him a small smile. “What were the chances?”

Tyrion closed his eyes. “My lady, you don’t need to lie to me. If the child is not mine, I will give them my name and save you from bearing a bastard. You’re still my wife, apparently, and when I swore to protect you, I meant it.”

Sansa said nothing in reply. Tyrion sighed, assuming that was her way of confirming his fears. But when he opened his eyes, he saw silent tears streaming down her face. “Do you really think I would lie to you about something like this?”

“I think you love your family fiercely. It’s one of the things I admire most about you. I have no doubt that, as a mother, you would do anything to protect your child. And I would expect nothing less from you.”

Sansa sniffled. “Tyrion, there’s been no one but you. Not since I escaped from _him_.”

Of course. After Bolton’s treatment of her, Sansa had been so tentative in his bed that at several points he had tried to stop. She had begged him to continue, and when she had curled up in his arms afterwards, crying what she swore were happy tears, he had felt honoured that she had trusted him enough to share his bed. So much for his reputation for being clever, Tyrion thought. He was an idiot if he truly believed that he could have been one of many.

But if it had only been him, that meant… “The- the child is really mine?” Tyrion had to lean against the wall for support. The woman he loved was pregnant with his child. It was something he had hoped for his whole life, but had never imagined would actually happen. The only problem, of course, was the significant possibility of them being sentenced to death in the very near future. He took her hands awkwardly in his, twisting the chains to reach her. “We have to get you out of King’s Landing.”

“Jon won’t let her hurt me,” Sansa said.

“Jon may not be able to stop her. But we might be able to smuggle one person out. If I stay I can-“

“No!” Sansa said. “I’m not going anywhere without you. I don’t want our baby to grow up without their father.”

In spite of the terror running through him, Tyrion couldn’t help grinning. A look of confusion spread across Sansa’s face. “What?” she said.

“I just found out I’m going to be a father. That is… everything.”

“I was worried that you’d be upset.” Sansa said.

“The woman I love is carrying my child - what man could wish for better news?”

Sansa jumped slightly when he said the word ‘love’. Tyrion cringed. He had been so caught up in his fantasy world of living happily ever after with Sansa and their pack of children that he had forgotten that they had never actually defined their relationship. She had called him ‘husband’, yes, but that was likely just a clever ploy to plead innocence to Daenerys. And his babe might have been in her belly, but that said nothing about how she felt about him.

She turned her eyes to the ground. “But we didn’t talk about anything. I didn’t know what this was. I still don’t.”

Tyrion hesitated. If he went too far, said something she was uncomfortable with, he could ruin whatever delicate thing there was between them. But then, they could also be dead by dawn. It was now or never. “Sansa... when we married, we didn’t choose each other. But now… selfishly… I’m glad we were forced together. I’m in love with you, and I don’t care about armies, or dragons, or whose arse is on that damned throne. All I want is to be your husband. To live with you, to raise a family with you, to grow old with you.” He paused. Her eyes were unreadable. “And... now it’s your turn to talk. And put me out of my misery, I expect.”

If anyone else had stared at Tyrion for so long, he would have felt immensely uncomfortable. As it was Sansa though, he was entirely content examining the flecks of grey in her Tully-blue eyes. “I choose you,” she said suddenly, startling him. “I… don’t know if I know what love is anymore. But I know I care about you like you’re my family, and I trust you. We didn’t choose each other when we married, but I’m choosing you now.”

For one perfect moment, Tyrion forgot about everything else. His shackles weren’t biting into his wrists, his knees weren’t numb from the packed earth floor, and the threat of the Queen and her dragon faded away. He stood and kissed his wife, and his wife kissed him back, and nothing had ever felt more right.

 

* * *

 

Sansa knelt on the floor of the Throne Room, her husband’s hand clasped tightly in her own. She wasn’t crying this time, wasn’t pleading. She was determined to be strong at the end.

“Dany, please don’t do this,” Jon said.

“You should address your queen as ‘your grace’, Jon _Snow_. You have made it perfectly clear that I am no longer  _Dany_ to you.” 

Jon’s hand was hovering near the hilt of his sword. “Your grace, if nothing else, think of the child.”

If Daenerys Targaryen could have breathed fire at Jon herself, Sansa was fairly sure she would have. “I have lost three of my children. One was lost in service to the Starks’ war, and one was lost to a Lannister army. The death of _this_ child would be justice.” 

Sansa heard the sound of first one, and then several swords being unsheathed behind her. She turned her head to see Brienne, Podrick, Samwell, and the Northmen with their swords raised and teeth bared. Jon closed his eyes for a moment, and when they reopened his face was resigned. He drew his sword too.

The Unsullied tipped their spears forward in unison, and Daenerys let out a scream. “I will burn you all!”

Sansa turned to face Tyrion, wanting to drink in the sight of him for however many seconds she had left. He cupped her face with one hand, rested the other against her stomach, and smiled.

“Dra-“ The end of the Queen’s command was drowned out by Drogon’s roar, and Sansa braced herself for the end.

But the fire never came. She counted each breath, aware that any one of them could be her last. And then she heard a grunt.

Gendry Baratheon was attempting to dislodge a spear from the eye of the dragon. And Arya was stood, dagger in hand, over the body of Daenerys Targaryen, as a pool of blood poured from the slit in her throat.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion couldn’t take his eyes off his newborn daughter. She was so tiny and perfect, and the evening sun streaming through the window of their Winterfell bedroom was making her face glow. The midwives had all fussed at him to put her down: it wouldn’t do to get her used to sleeping while being held, and he’d regret it in the long term. Tyrion had ignored them until they had given up, and had been happily cradling her in his arms for over an hour.

The only thing that could pull his attention away was the face of his wife, who was sleeping just as peacefully in the bed opposite his chair. It had been a long labour and she was exhausted: the circles under her eyes were like bruises, and her hair was a tangled mess of curls. But she had never looked more beautiful to him.

Voices began drifting into the room from the corridor outside. “ _I_ should be the first to meet her, because _I’m_ the oldest.”

“But I’m a girl. Sisters should meet each other first.” The door banged open. 

“I spoke to father, and _he_ said-“

“Quiet!” Tyrion hissed. “Your mother is sleeping, and we mustn’t disturb her.”

“She’s not sleeping anymore,” Sansa said, propping herself gingerly against the headboard. She held her arms out. “Can I see her?”

Tyrion eased himself from the chair and passed the bundle carefully from his arms to hers. The other children clambered onto the bed. Their enthusiastic bounding across the mattress jostled Sansa at first, but after a sharp look from their father they moved much more carefully.

Sansa pulled the blanket away from the baby’s face so they could all get a good look. “This is Joanna.”

“Nice to meet you, Joanna, I’m your brother Robb.”

Six-year-old Cate scowled at him before following his example and introducing herself too. Joanna was their fifth child, and their eldest was only seven. They had managed a slightly bigger gap between Eddard, their fourth, and Joanna, but it was nowhere near as long as they had planned. If he was honest with himself, Tyrion wasn’t at all sorry. They had their hands more than full, but it was in the best possible way.

“What are you thinking?” Sansa asked, ironing out the line between his brows with her thumb.

“Oh, just that we’re very good at this. Making babies, I mean.”

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re not doing any of the work.”

Tyrion let out a mock gasp of shock. “None of the work!? Well, I suppose I’ll have to step up my game next time.”

She slapped his arm playfully and grinned. “Stop!” 

“What can I say? I love my wife. And we have such a big family to show for it.”

She took his hand and squeezed, and her face turned sincere. “I love you too, Tyrion.”

He still couldn’t quite believe it whenever Sansa told him that she loved him. The first time had been shortly after Robb’s birth, and Tyrion had put it down to hormones. But then she had started saying it more often - at night when they were half asleep to begin with - until she had said it so many times that he had run out of excuses for why she must not really mean it. He had no idea what he had done to deserve her love, or the children she had blessed him with.

“Right,” Tyrion said, “everybody out! Your mother needs to rest, and you all need to get back to your lessons.” The children shuffled off the bed and trudged slowly out of the room. He bent to kiss Sansa and then Joanna on the forehead. “I’ll go and make sure they’re not getting up to something they shouldn’t. Can I get you anything?”

“She’ll be ok, won’t she?” Sansa asked, running her fingers across the top of Joanna’s head.

Tyrion leant against the edge of the bed. “You’ve never been worried about Robb.” 

“Robb’s a boy. And the heir to the North.” She gave him a smile. “And he’s so much like his clever father.”

Tyrion bent his head to address his daughter. “Lady Joanna, when your mother was a child, she was kept prisoner by some of the most horrible people in the Seven Kingdoms. They forced her into two marriages she didn’t want. When she escaped from them, she had to fight to take her home back from her enemies and then defend it from the dead. And if that wasn’t enough, she came within seconds of being roasted alive by a dragon. Those are all far bigger obstacles than being a dwarf, and now your mother is Queen in the North.” He took Sansa’s hand. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll be fine.”

Sansa was looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. It was an expression that Tyrion had only ever seen her direct at their children, and he didn’t know what to do with it for himself. But he was saved from thinking too hard about it by a crash, followed by the sound of a stack of books tumbling to the ground. She laughed and rolled her eyes, and he reluctantly removed himself from her bedside. “Our lives might be easier if Robb was a little less like me,” Tyrion said. After one last glance over his shoulder at the perfect picture on the bed, he forced his ‘serious father’ expression onto his face and left the room in search of his pack of wolves.

 


End file.
